SCENE--_Within measurable distance of Woking. Enter lounger and marksman
R. and L._
_Lounger (heartily)._ Why, I _am_ glad to see you! And how are things
going on?
_Marksman (cordially, but abruptly)._ Capitally! Good-bye!
_Loung._ But I say, what a hurry you are in! Can't you stop a minute for
a chat?
_Marks._ Another time, but just now moments are precious.
_Loung._ But I say, you see I have found myself here--it doesn't take
much longer than getting down to Wimbledon.
_Marks._ Of course it doesn't--whoever said it did? But there, old chap,
I _must_ be off!
_Loung._ You are in a hurry! Ah, we used to have pleasant days in the
old place?
_Marks._ Did we? I daresay we did.
_Loung._ Why, of course! Grand old days! Don't you remember what fun it
used to be decorating your tent; and then, when the ladies came
down--which they did nearly all the day long--what larks it was getting
them tea and claret-cup?
_Marks._ Very likely. But we don't have many ladies now, and a good job,
too--they _are_ a bore.
_Loung._ Well, you _are_ a chap! Why, how can there be any fun without
your sisters, and your cousins, and your maiden aunts?
_Marks._ We don't want fun. But there, good-bye!
_Loung._ But I say, I have come all this way to look you up.
_Marks. (unbending)._ Very kind of you, my dear fellow, you have chosen
rather an unfortunate time.
_Loung._ Why, at Wimbledon you had nothing to do!
_Marks._ Very likely. But then Bisley isn't Wimbledon.
_Loung. (dryly)._ So it seems. Everyone said that when they moved the
camp further away from home, they would ruin the meeting.
_Marks._ Then everyone was wrong. Why, we are going on swimmingly.
_Loung._ It must be beastly dull.
_Marks._ Not at all. Lovely country, good range, and, after it rains,
two minutes later it is dry as bone.
_Loung._ Yes, but it stands to reason that it _can't_ be as popular as
Wimbledon.
_Marks._ My dear fellow, figures are the best test of that. In all the
history of the Association we never had more entries than this year.
_Loung._ That may be, but you don't have half the fun you had nearer
town.
_Marks. (laughing)._ Don't want to! Business, my dear fellow, not
pleasure! And now, old man, I really _must_ be off. Ta! ta! See you
later.
[_Exit._
Loung. Well, whatever he may say, I prefer Wimbledon. And as there
doesn't seem much for _me_ to do down here, I shall return to town.
[_Does so. Curtain._
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Irascible Lieutenant (down engine-room tube)._ "Is there
a blithering idiot at the end of this tube?"
_Voice from Engine-room._ "Not at this end, sir!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: VOLO EPISCOPARI.
_Festive Middy._ "I say, guv'nor! I think you must rather like being
Bishop here!"
_His Lordship._ "Well, my boy, I hope I do! But why do you ask?"
_Festive Middy._ "Oh, I've just been taking a walk through the
city,--and I _say_!--there _is_ an uncommonly good-looking lot o' girls
about, and _no_ mistake!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: A NASTY ONE.
_Colonel Smithson (of the Poonah Marines)._ "By the way, my boy at
Sandhurst hopes to get into your regiment some day."
_Little Simpson (of the Royal Hussars Green)._ "Aw--I--aw hope your son
is up to _our form!_"
_Colonel Smithson._ "_Your form!_ Dash it, he's over four feet high,
anyhow!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: A CAUTION.
_Old Gent (with difficulty)._ "Now really--Oh! this dis--graceful
crowding--I'm--I'm positive my gun will go off!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: CHEEK.
_(The regiment is about to "march out" with twenty rounds of "blank
cartridge.")_
_Sub-Lieutenant (of twenty-four hours' service)._ "Whereabouts is this
pyrotechnic display of yours coming off, Colonel!!?"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: OVERHEARD AT PORTSMOUTH.
_Jack._ "Well, Polly lass, if it's true as 'ow you're going to get
spliced to Bill, all I 'opes is that he'll stick to you through thick
and thin!"
_Polly._ "Well, 'e _ought_ to, Jack. 'E works in a glue factory."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: "Awful bore, dear old chap. War offith won't have me,
thimply becauth my eyethight ith tho doothed bad!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: ARMS OF PRECISION
_Volunteer Subaltern (as the enemy's scout continues to advance in spite
of expenditure of much "blank" ammunition)._ "If that infernal yeoman
comes any nearer, shy stones at him, some of you!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: A FORLORN HOPE
_Captain O'Dowd (of the firm of O'Dowd and Jones, stock-jobbers)._
"What'll I do now? It's beyond me jumpin' powers, an' if I wade I'll be
wet to the waist." _(To Private Halloran, who in civil life is a
stockbroker's clerk)._ "Here, Halloran, I want a carry over. You do it
for me, an' I'll not forget it to you, me lad."
_Private Halloran._ "Sorry I can't, Captain. You know carryin'-over day
is not till the sixteenth, an' this is only the seventh!"]
* * * * *